


Es war ein Stück vom Himmel

by brownest_goldfish_intheair



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Angst, Berlermo, Friendship, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Men are idiots, i want palermo to be held, martín misses andrés, monastery before the second heist, nairobi is a sweetheart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:54:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24295435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brownest_goldfish_intheair/pseuds/brownest_goldfish_intheair
Summary: “Palermo? Can I come in?” There was a moment of silence, before she heard his breath hitch.“No.” He said quietly. He wascrying. Oh, she wanted to hug him.“Please, let me in.” She tried again. “I know you miss him, it’s okay.”---Nairobi can see that Palermo is hurting; she wants to be there for him.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote, Nairobi | Ágata Jiménez & Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 14
Kudos: 111





	Es war ein Stück vom Himmel

_Oh, what an insensitive idiot._ Nairobi thought as she listened to Denver. _  
_ Her gaze had travelled to Palermo the second her friend had mentioned Berlin; he had looked like he’d been punched in the stomach. And Nairobi had _hoped_ , with all her heart, that Denver would _not_ say anything stupid – that he, even without having been told that Palermo had been in love with his best friend, would realise that this was a touchy subject. But of course, he didn’t: He kept joking about how stuck up Berlin had been without paying any attention whatsoever to the other's reaction. _Men_.  
Palermo was clutching his wine glass so hard, Nairobi was sure it was going to break any second and she was just about to say something, _anything_ , to make Denver shut up, when Mónica put an arm around her husband’s shoulders and smiled:  
“Cariño, didn’t you want to tell them about that gigantic cake you bought for Cincinnati’s first birthday?” Denver’s grin faded a little as he gave her a confused look, but he seemed to forget what he’d been talking about the second he saw her smile at him, which, Nairobi had to admit, was quite sweet.  
“Right, yeah.” He said.  
“He dropped it.” Mónica grinned, making everyone laugh before the story had even begun. She took a sip of wine while he started to explain how it hadn’t been his fault that he dropped the cake and let her eyes wander over Palermo and then to Nairobi. They shared a moment of understanding; of course, Mónica had noticed too.  
Palermo seemed to relax a bit, now that the subject had changed, but Nairobi could see that he was still not quite there, blinking just a bit _too_ quickly as he stared at his hands. And she wanted nothing more than to put a hand on his arm and tell him it was alright, but of course, she couldn’t. So she sighed internally and tried and focus on Denver’s story instead.

Palermo left about five minutes later, without a word, taking his wine glass with him.  
“What’s wrong with _him_?” Denver asked, looking at everyone expectantly. Bogota shrugged, the Professor readjusted his glasses and Mónica gave Nairobi another men-are-idiots-look when they simply went back to talking as if nothing had happened.  
None of them seemed to still be thinking about it when they started cleaning the table. Nairobi watched as the professor carefully stacked plates, looking completely absorbed in the task. Well, _he_ certainly wasn’t going to check on Palermo, although he was exactly the one who should. When he’d told her about Palermo and Berlin, that was the first thing she’d asked about. And his answer had been “I didn’t think of it; there were more important things going on.”  
_More important things_? Like setting up an overly complex puzzle for a woman he’d only known for a few weeks just so they could reunite in the most romantic way possible? Not that she wasn’t happy for the two of them, she loved them both, but his priorities were a bit off sometimes. And now _stacking plates_ seemed to be the very important thing that kept him from considering that maybe someone he cared about needed him. Just brilliant.

She walked to the kitchen exactly once before silently sneaking off in the direction of the bedrooms, unable to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest. When she reached Palermo’s room, she stopped to take a deep breath. The last time they’d talked to each other directly she’d called him an asshole and he’d insulted women. But she still cared about him – just as she’d cared about Berlin – and she didn’t like seeing him to suffer.  
She softly knocked on the door.  
“Palermo? Can I come in?” There was a moment of silence, before she heard his breath hitch.  
“No.” He said quietly. He was _crying_. Oh, she wanted to hug him.  
“Please, let me in.” She tried again. “I know you miss him, it’s okay.” She could hear him stifling a sob, but when he didn’t say anything else, she took another breath and slowly opened the door.  
He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, hunched over and clutching a shirt that clearly wasn’t his, from how expensive and elegant it looked.  
“It doesn’t smell like him anymore.” He whispered hoarsely, looking up at her from where he sat, and her heart instantly broke into a thousand pieces.  
“Oh, corazón.” She said and walked over to him to join him on the bed. “Come here.” She wrapped her arms around him and, to her surprise, he _let_ her. He buried his face in her shirt and let her pull him closer as he was shaken by another sob.  
“Shh.” She whispered, running her hand down his back. “I’m so sorry.” He weakly shook his head.  
“Not your fault.” He mumbled. And she could feel the tears gather in her own eyes now, because it _was_ her fault, wasn’t it? But she was quite sure that even if Palermo knew what exactly had happened, he wouldn’t blame her – he was only blaming himself, tearing himself apart over it again and again, never allowing himself to heal because he didn’t think he deserved it.  
And as much as Berlin had sometimes annoyed the shit out of Nairobi, in that moment she wanted nothing more than for him to be there, so _he_ could hold Palermo; so they could be happy and annoy her together.  
But Berlin was gone and Palermo was in pain, so she tried her best to make him feel a bit less alone, sitting with him and drawing soft circles on his back while he cried for the man he’d loved.

“He loved you too, you know.” Nairobi said quietly, handing Palermo a tissue and sitting back down on the bed. He’d calmed down a bit, but he was still grasping onto the shirt in his lap. He shook his head.  
“He left me.” He said, his eyes filling with tears once again as he looked down at the fabric in his fingers. “Left me because I wasn’t good enough.”  
“Palermo.” She said and gently took one of his hands in hers. He looked up at her as if he was scared of something. How long had it been since he’d let someone hold his hand? “Do you want to know what he said right before he died?” Palermo hesitated for a moment. This must hold an insane weight to him, considering especially that he’d never asked Sergio about it. Finally, he nodded and she felt his grip on her hand tightening just the slightest bit.  
“He said that he wasn’t brave enough to die slowly, with his illness eating away at him.” She told him while stroking his hand with her thumb. “Do you think he would have been able to make that decision, with _you_ there?” She watched as realisation dawned on him.  
“I-“ He started, closing his eyes as more tears ran down his cheeks.  
“I’m so sorry you lost him, cariño.” She whispered. “But it wasn’t because you weren’t good enough. It was the exact opposite.” She wiped a few of his tears away with her thumbs.  
“It’s just not fair.” He said, opening his eyes to give her a weak smile. “We should have been together.” She nodded and kept gently stroking his cheek.  
“I know, cariño.” She said softly. “I know.”  
Nairobi wished there was anything she could say that would make it hurt less, make him feel any less empty. But he was right; it _wasn’t_ fair and they’d both deserved more than this. All she could do was hope that he would see that just because love wasn’t always fair, it didn’t mean that it was always painful.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it :)
> 
> Palermo really needed a friend. And no offence to Sergio (actual offence to Sergio), but he did do a lousy job after Andrés died. So I thought I'd fix it a bit.
> 
> The title is a line from "Der Weg" bei Herbert Grönemeyer and I'm telling you, listen to that song, especially if you speak German because the lyrics are *chef's kiss*.


End file.
